


i want your hot love and emotion, endlessly

by king_wizard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Belly Kink, Chubby Dean, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Feeding Kink, Future Fic, Hand Feeding, Lap Sex, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Riding, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_wizard/pseuds/king_wizard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His cheeks are rounder and softer under Sam's fingertips - his entire body is, really, rounder and softer, plumper and warmer, constantly beckoning Sam's mouth to feel the excess of too sweet skin and revel in the weight of his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want your hot love and emotion, endlessly

**Author's Note:**

> This is the author formerly known as deandatsgay. 
> 
> Title taken from and ridiculous amount of schmoop inspired by Drake's [Hold On, We're Going Home](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dls6lgpBDyY). 
> 
> Reviews are always appreciated!

The holidays are heavy with litigation. Los Anglesites seem to think the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas are the best to file for their divorces or have their pre-nuptial agreements drawn up or sue their former employers.   
   
It’s stressful and hectic in ways that make Sam almost yearn for a simple salt and burn; then again, nothing ever was simple for the Winchesters.   
   
His phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts and the background of Caroline Lyle’s laughter.   
   
“Like clockwork,” Caroline mutters with a roll of her green eyes – dull in comparison to the flecks and shines of Dean’s gaze. “You keep your boy on a tight leash, huh?”  
   
Sam gives an awkward laugh and rubs his palm over his neck. “No, it’s nothing. He’s just calling to put in his dinner order.”  
   
-  
   
Sam isn’t lying. Caroline rolls her eyes again as he hurries from the employee lounge and slips into an empty office, but he isn’t lying. Every Friday at 12:15 sharp, Dean calls to tell Sam where he wants dinner from that night.   
   
His thigh is twitching under the vibrations of his cell phone and his cock is plumping, hot and chubby in the cradle of his boxers, teasing him with the phantom feel of Dean’s own chubby body hot against legs.   
   
Friday’s are the only days Dean gets fast food. Saturday’s and Sunday’s, Sam buzzes around his brother in the kitchen, watching and panting against the raised hair of Dean’s neck as he watches deft fingers coat chicken and fish and steak with flour, cut French fries and grate hash browns, pile bacon strip after bacon strip in the frying pan.   
   
But Friday’s, as Sam is winding down from a busy week at the firm and Dean is settling into his three day weekend from Cliff’s Automotive, are special.   
   
Licking his lips, Sam slides his phone to his ear. “Hey,” he breathes.   
   
“Hey, Sammy.”  
   
The sound of Dean’s hoarse, heavy voice twists hot in Sam’s gut. His brother sounds breathless; wrecked. How much has he eaten already to sound like that, Sam wonders, feeling dizzy and too warm.   
   
“How’s your day, Dean?” Voice dropping, Sam asks, “Have you been following your book?”  
   
It’s a perfunctory question. Dean is so, so good at following at the directions Sam gives him, so sweet and willing to yield under Sam’s hands. He dutifully and beautifully keeps the small black booklet Sam has jotted his diet in with him at all times, packs his lunches and plans his shopping trips according to the menu.   
   
“Yeah. I mean, uh. Sort of.”  
   
That throws Sam a little. He frowns, but is careful to keep the disappointment out of his voice when he asks, “Sort of?”   
   
The list was full today, no more so than it has been for the past few weeks, but Dean could’ve hit his wall. Sam can’t begrudge him for that. A smile replaces the downturn of his lips as he thinks of coming home to a Dean whose stuffed full and moaning at the ache in his belly, demanding Sam rub his tummy and pet his hair through the pain.    
   
Dean shatters the little domestic illusion with his next words. “I ate a little more than what was on the list.”  
   
Helplessly, Sam groans.   
   
“Fuck, Dean,” he pants, voice low, desire throbbing heavy in his belly. “That’s – that’s so good. You’re so good.” A moment passes, Sam gathering his thoughts and lust. “What’d you eat?”  
   
The smirk is clear in Dean’s voice, as is the pleasure and preening joy. Sam’s own heart seizes in his chest. He put that obvious smile on Dean’s sinful lips; he put that self-satisfaction, that esteem, in Dean’s chest.  
   
“I made double mashed potatoes, and green beans. And had a few extra slices of pie.”  
   
Sam feels his bones puddle in his body. That’s more than he thought Dean could eat in one sitting, and the fact that Dean pushed himself, pushed his body for Sam, just for Sam –   
   
He wonders if he can take a half-day.  
   
“Charlie stopped by. She brought  _Star Wars_ and a crap load of pot.”  
   
Oh.   
   
 _Oh_.  
   
Oh, oh, oh, Sam could kiss Charlie and hug her hard enough to snap something. He doesn’t approve of Dean doing drugs, has cut his alcohol consumption in half since they relegated themselves to mentors instead of hunters, but weed – well, Sam isn’t about to say no to something that makes Dean’s eyes flutter sluggish, makes his mouth pant wide, makes his smile unfurl slow like the desire in Sam’s gut, and makes the bottomless pit of Dean’s appetite stretch even further.  
   
“She left me a coupla j’s.”  
   
“I’ve gotta get her Caroline’s number.”   
   
He has to press the heel of his palm to his aching cock, fat and warm like Dean’s beautiful new body, and bite his lip.   
   
It’s a Friday and Dean has weed and when Sam finally makes it home, his brother is going to be so, so hungry.   
   
-  
   
Sam’s arms are full with Kentucky Fried Chicken as he steps into the bunker. He has a bucket of Original, a bucket of Extra Crispy, family sized macaroni and two family sized potato wedges, as many biscuits as they would give him, and a liter sized cup of Dr. Pepper.   
   
The food is balanced precariously in his arms as he finally makes his way into the living room, finding Dean strewn across the couch, arms behind his head, t-shirt ridden up and the soft flesh of his tummy on full display.   
   
Dean’s eyes are closed. The sweep of his lashes is soft and sweet against his freckled cheekbones. A look of contentment, dreamy and beautiful, is on his resting features.   
   
Sam almost doesn’t want to wake him up.  
   
But there’s a cigarette case he knows is full of joints and a lighter on the floor, and a heap of food in his arms, and an unforgiving bite of lust thrumming through his body. Besides, Dean would pout passive aggressive if he knew he missed out on hot KFC and a languid night of making love.  
   
(A term Dean doesn’t appreciate outwardly but that Sam knows Dean loves, sees how it makes Dean’s cheeks heat the prettiest shade of pink.)  
   
So Sam sets the food down on the floor and moves to crouch in front of Dean. He smiles, soft and quiet and to himself, at his brother's beauty - his brother's perfection.   
   
Since they've stopped taking on the end of the world and started taking on whatever this thing is between them, larger and more dangerous than every angel and demon they've fought, Dean's gained a little over 25 pounds.   
His cheeks are rounder and softer under Sam's fingertips - his entire body is, really, rounder and softer, plumper and warmer, constantly beckoning Sam's mouth to feel the excess of too sweet skin and revel in the weight of his brother.   
   
Sam can barely contain himself in his own skin as he waits for Dean to gain more, become fuller of love and happiness and easy smiles, but he's made it a point that they're going to do this right from the beginning. He's not going to stuff Dean full (of food and love and cock) just to watch him expand without regard to the trash that could clot his arteries and burst his heart.   
   
They fill Dean slowly (achingly, torturousl slowly), limit his amount of fats and fried foods, include copious heaps of fruits and vegetables, and make sure he exercises 5 days a week. It's funny in a way, because despite the extra layers of flesh, Dean is healthier now than he was when they were hunting.   
   
Sam probably shouldn't feel so smug that Dean is at his healthiest when he's under Sam's care and guidance, but he does; feels smug and so hot inside he can barely breathe around it sometimes.   
   
"Hey, sleepy head," Sam murmurs gently. He trails his knuckles over a bright burst of freckles on his brother's plump cheek.   
   
Dean makes a disgruntled noise, adorable, and squirms a little before sluggishly opening his eyes.  
   
His bright green gaze flutters for a moment before he smacks his lips. "Sammy," he says, groggy. "Where's m'food?"  
   
Sam laughs and presses a happy kiss to Dean's sleep dry, sleep slack lips. His chest feels light and so full it could burst all at once.   
   
Not for the first time, he wonders how they went so long without this.  
   
"Yes, Dean. I think I bought the KFC out, but I brought all your food."  
   
"Awesome," Dean murmurs, smiling, and closes his eyes as he snuggles into the couch.   
   
Fondness and impatience war in Sam's brain. He brushes his thumb over Dean's cheek again, brings it across his lips, and shudders when Dean gives a soft kiss to his fingertip.   
   
"C'mon," Sam presses. "Thought you were hungry enough to eat a horse?"  
   
Dean cracks one eye open. "Sleepy  now."  
   
Sam thinks he does a good job of clenching his disappointment, hiding it from his eyes, but then Dean sighs and shifts with a roll of his eyes.   
   
"Why?" Dean says lowly, licking his lips. "You hungry, Sammy?"  
   
"Always," Sam answers. He doesn't bother to hide that hunger as he stares at Dean's mouth.   
   
Dean makes a show of rolling his eyes again, but Sam can see the fat line of Dean's cock in his soft grey sweatpants, can see it plumping fuller as Sam stares at him as if he's going to devour him whole.  
   
Sam stands and watches with bottomless need as Dean pushes himself up to a sitting position, huffing as he tries and fails to sit straight a few times. His cheeks redden sweetly as he notices how far his shirt has ridden up. Fingers move quickly to push it down, and Sam bites his lip to hold in his sigh. Dean clearly loves Sam's infatuation with his new body, but in his most unguarded moments, he seems embarrassed and unsure.   
   
Sam hates to see that shame on his brother's beautiful face, but he does love to kiss and lick and fuck it away.   
   
"Wanna hand me the case?" Dean asks, nodding to the cigarette case by his feet.   
   
A perverse flush of pleasure zings through Sam's spine. It's hard for Dean to bend over his growing tummy, gets him a little huffy and puffy, and he's been deferring to Sam to reach or bend for things. It never fails to warm Sam's belly, harden his dick.   
   
Sam picks it up but holds it above Dean's head. He smiles as Dean glares.  
   
"You know the rules," Sam teases.   
   
Dean rolls his eyes, but curls his fist into Sam's shirt and pulls him in, leaning up to press a kiss to Sam's lips. It's soft, almost chaste, no tongue or hint of spit, but it still makes Sam's blood race.   
   
"Thank you, Sammy," Dean whispers against his mouth.   
   
Sam's toes curl. He loves this rule.   
   
"I'll go get you a glass, okay? Sit tight."   
   
Dean does.  
   
-  
   
When Sam comes back with two glasses full of ice, Dean has changed the channel to whatever is playing  _Die Hard 2_. It's Sam's turn to roll his eyes.   
   
"Here you go."  
   
Dean accepts his glass with a soft thanks. He downs it in nearly one gulp. Sam would tell him to slow down, but he can't tear his eyes from the way Dean's throat is working to furiously swallow it all down, the way his Adam's apple bobs almost violently.   
   
Sam shifts in his seat. He hopes, really, really hopes, Dean is going to have enough room after his meal to swallow down his cock too.   
   
"Ah," Dean sighs after his last drink. He wipes his wet, full mouth with the back of his hand. Sam wants to lean in, lick the sugar and syrup from Dean's lips, but Dean pops open the cigarette case and slides a joint between his fingers. “You want first hit?"  
   
Throat and dick tight with anticipation, Sam shakes his head.   
   
"You're a fuckin' freak, y'know?" Dean asks, with no heat but that kissing his cheeks. "Fuckin' bizarre fetishes."  
   
"You're my fetish," Sam says, both because it's painfully true and because he wants to watch Dean squirm.  
   
Dean does, always uncomfortable under Sam's blatant and complete adoration. He brings the joint to his lips without another word.   
   
Dean's cheeks, so round and supple now, don't hollow quite as much as they used to when he used to take a drag from a joint or a cigarette, but it’s still an obscene sight to watch Dean suck on the joint.   
   
He holds the hit for a few seconds. Sam moves in closer to him, presses himself right against Dean's side so he can watch the smoke spill from Dean's slack mouth.   
   
When Dean turns to offer him the joint, Sam takes it one hand and uses the other to cup Dean's soft face. He runs his nose along Dean's plump cheek, reveling in the way Dean's new softness yields to his desire.   
   
"C'mon," Dean says, but he lets Sam nuzzle him, tilts his head to give Sam access to kiss his neck. "It's burning, man."   
   
Sam just licks Dean's neck, basks in the tiny moan Dean let's loose, and presses a kiss to the slick skin.   
   
"Okay," he murmurs. He pulls back, but before he tokes, he presses two fingers to Dean's bottom lip. "Open up, Dean."  
   
Dean licks his lips, dragging the tip of his tongue over Sam's fingers, and lets his mouth fall open.   
   
Sam dips his index finger inside Dean's mouth, can't resist gathering the heat and slick behind Dean's bottom lip as he pulls a breath from the joint.   
   
He counts five Mississippi's in his head before he curls his fingers around Dean's chin, pulling his brother closer. Dean's eyes flutter shut as Sam leans in close and exhales the smoke into his mouth.   
   
Dean inhales quickly. It's like they're sharing the same breath, like they need each other to even complete one flutter of their lungs. They do, really, and when Dean lets the recycled hit fall again, Sam sucks in the air around them greedily.   
   
They each take one heavy breath before Sam closes the short distance between their mouths. His tongue seeks out the taste of Dean, the smell and sound and essence of him, and Dean immediately softens. Dean's mouth falls open further and his body relaxes and his hands slide limp to Sam's thighs.   
   
It's a lazy kiss, nothing to show the fire pit in Sam's stomach. It's the kind of kiss Sam could sink into all night.   
   
Sam slides from the kiss, but Dean's mouth doesn't stop moving. His lips are warm and wet against Sam's cheek as he continues to kiss and breathe against him. Sam let's his eyes fall closed, lets himself fall into the smell and feel of his brother.   
   
"Here," Sam says, pulling away, pushing the joint back into Dean's mouth.   
   
Dean fits his lips around it and pulls his hit, eyes half-lidded as he stares at Sam's fingers holding the joint for him. Sam pulls it away so Dean can hold and exhale, then brings it back, pressing Dean to take another hit.   
   
He does, following Sam's unspoken encouragement with a lazy suck. Sam is hard in his trousers, but he doesn't give Dean the joint back or take his hand from Dean's jaw to adjust himself, to ease the nearly unbearable pressure. He just watches, waits, and wants.   
   
Sam takes another hit, shotguns it back into Dean's beautiful, open mouth, then licks at the dry heat of Dean's lips and tongue.   
   
It's an easy pattern to fall into. Dean takes a few hits, Sam takes one, pours the smoke into Dean and sucks it out. They continue until the joint is just a stub between Sam's thumb and index finger. 

  
Finally, the joint is little more than the burning cherry end. Sam slides his tongue into Dean's slack mouth, licks and tastes and owns as Dean just gives Sam everything, before putting it out into the cigarette case.   
   
Dean leans back against the couch. Bliss is a layer on his face and body, the same languid contentment that kisses his features after a big meal or a long, mind-numbing fuck. Dean's pleasure centers are pretty much just food and sex, the wires between them crossed so tightly Dean makes the same moans around a forkful of pie as he does when his throat is stuffed with Sam's cock.   
   
That graceful throat is bared in the stretch. That beautiful belly, so plump and full, is on display too, the curve of it distended and highlighted by Dean's open sprawl. Sam doesn't know which part of Dean he wants to sink his teeth into first.   
   
He settles for sliding one hand behind Dean's neck, brushing his thumb over Dean's throat, and sliding his palm under Dean's too tight green Henley.   
   
Dean wants to buy bigger clothes, embarrassed by the cling of fabric to his middle, the way his pretty belly spills over his jeans, the way denim hugs his thighs and ass. Sam loves the way he looks though, like his body is too much for fabric, too much for the world, and is just going to burst with all of its light and beauty. Sometimes Sam lets him wear his clothes, to work and out to the grocery store, and his jeans go past Dean's feet.   
   
He isn't sure which clothes make Dean look hotter, which look makes this insatiable need to be inside of his brother in every way burn more.   
   
"How you feelin'?" Sam asks softly, rubbing Dean's belly with his palm. The flesh is so soft and warm. It reminds Sam of their kitchen, the way it smells and the way the air feels on his skin when Dean is humming and baking. He runs his nail along Dean's throat, breathes in Dean's shiver. "Baby?"  
   
Dean makes a face - hates it Sam calls him baby, but Sam hates it when Dean calls him Sammy, so Sam argues it's a fair compromise. It's not, of course, because Sammy no longer carries  the connotation of a chubby 12-year-old but of the striking devotion and adoration Dean holds for him. Every time he breathes the word, Sam wants to spread him out and sink inside of him, fuck him so slow and sweet it's the only word Dean knows.   
   
"High as shit."  
   
Sam smiles as he presses a kiss to Dean's collar. He remembers a time when the delicate bone would jut into Sam's mouth; now there's just smooth, soft skin, no protruding bone. Sam can't get enough of it.   
   
There's so much more of Dean now, so much more to touch and taste, to own and worship.   
   
"You hungry, baby?"   
   
Dean scrunches his nose again but shakes his head.   
   
"Gettin' there." Dean's glazed eyes flutter opened, so glassy and red they don't even look real. His smile unfurls lazily as Sam peppers kiss up his neck. "Missed you today," he whispers.   
   
Sam kisses his jaw. "I know. Missed you too."  
   
Dean groans softly. "We are so gross, dude."  
   
"I know," Sam agrees happily. He slides his hand back to Dean's belly, presses his fingertips into the swollen flesh just to feel it give. "I know."  
   
-  
   
They settle on Comedy Central.  _South Park_ merges into  _Reno 911,_ Dean's laughter and grossed-out faces drowning the sounds of the television in Sam's ears.   
   
Dean is snuggled against Sam's chest, Sam's hands spanning his stomach under his shirt. He rubs the skin, lets his hands drift to the love handles Sam loves to grip, loves to hold while he fucks Dean from behind, loves to watch the imprints of his fingers bloom into. He's lost in the feeling of soft, ample flesh under his fingers. It's heady and relaxing, drugging in it's own way; he feels higher from the way Dean's belly jiggles against his palms when Dean laughs than the weed.  
   
Another episode of  _Reno_ starts rolling when Dean's glazed eyes roll towards him.  
   
"Sammy," he breathes. "M'hungry."  
   
Sam licks his own lips at Dean's breathy tone. There's hunger there alright, and Sam can't even distinguish how much is for him and how much is for the buckets of fried chicken next to the couch. He doesn't really care. Dean wants, and Sam is going to give.   
   
"I'll fix you a plate."  
   
He kisses Dean quick on the mouth, then on the cheek, before manuevering his brother to the other side of the couch. He runs to the kitchen to grab a plate, nearly skips on his way back. He's so hard already and they've barely even begun, but he can wait. He wants to watch Dean fill himself up before he fills Dean himself.   
   
When he gets back, Dean is drinking another glass of Dr. Pepper. Sam smiles as he loads the plate with two chicken legs, a thigh, a handful of potatoes wedges, heaping spoonfuls of macaroni, and three fluffy biscuits. Dean eyes the plate the same way he watches Sam's mouth when it's hovering just above his dick, when Sam's been teasing him and he's so desperate to come there are actual tears in his pretty eyes.   
   
He looks desperate and so very, very hungry. Sam doesn't know which one of them is hungrier at this point.   
   
Sam sits down beside Dean, settling the plate in his lap.   
   
"You know the rules," he breathes.   
   
Dean doesn't hesitate before leaning forward, capturing Sam's mouth in a deep, wet kiss.   
   
"Thank you, Sammy." His lips brush Sam's as he says it. "Now feed me my fucking macaroni."  
   
Sam loads the spork with as much macaroni as it can handle and brings it to Dean's lips. Dean opens up obediently. He doesn't even lean forward, doesn't try to control Sam's movement or speed; he just waits, open-mouthed and gorgeous, for Sam to feed him.   
   
Sam slides the spork against Dean's tongue and Dean, beautiful, too good for this world Dean, waits until Sam nods to close his lips around the food. A soft moan falls as soon as the thick, cheesy pasta touches his pallet. Sam swallows in time with his brother as he pulls the spork from Dean's mouth.   
   
"Good?" he asks.   
   
" _Fuck_ , yeah." Dean licks his lips. "More, Sammy, c'mon. M' _starvin'_."   
   
Sam chuckles, dark and deep. His eyes drop to Dean's mouth then travel slowly back to Dean's glassy, grass green eyes. "I know you are, baby. Always so hungry for me, huh?"  
   
" _Sam_ ," his brother whines, staring at the helping of macaroni as if Sam's words don't even reach him past his hunger.   
   
Sam feeds him another sporkful, then another and another, until there's only a few noodles on the plate. Dean sighs and groans with every bite, whimpers and glares with every tease Sam gives. They're both so worked up at the end that Sam has to slide the plate to the other end of the couch and pull Dean into his lap.  
   
"My chicken," Dean pouts as Sam curls his hands into Dean's love handles and licks at his mouth. "Sammy," he says, trying to distract Sam from his mouth, but all the breathless word does is heat Sam's blood.   
   
Sam kisses Dean deep, shuddering at the warmth of his mouth. It only takes a few moments of Sam's tongue sliding against his own for Dean to groan and shift his focus. He settles his hands on Sam's shoulders, fingertips curling into the ends of Sam's hair, and shifts so he's resting his entire weight on Sam's thighs. Sam groans right back into his mouth.   
   
The extra weight on Dean's body is an extra pressure against Sam's dick, pressed hard and hot to his zipper. The more Dean gains, the hotter he feels squirming on Sam's lap. Sam loves the growing warm weight of Dean's body against his cock. Loves it even more when they're both naked, when his dick is pressed right against the soft bulge of Dean's stomach. When Dean is full or fucked out enough, he can get Dean to stay still enough to nestle the head of his cock right underneath Dean's belly, let Dean's plump flesh envelop him.   
   
Dean shifts, his own erection pressing against Sam's hips. He breaks their kiss with a heavy pant. Sam just breathes against him, breathes him in, as Dean mouths against his jaw.   
   
"Want my dessert," Dean says, hot and sturdy against him.   
   
Sam wants to give it to him - fuck, does he want to - but he knows how much better it is to slide inside of a Dean whose pliant and drowsy and dizzy from food. He knows how much hotter it is to watch Dean push morsel after morsel between his lips, until he's so full he's gripping his own stomach, then watch Dean struggle to slide onto his cock.   
   
"Gotta get you full first," Sam reminds him.   
   
"You could fill me up."   
   
Sam groans as Dean grinds against him, pants those oh so tempting words against the shell of his ear. It would still be so good if he took Dean now: had Dean ride him on the couch, bent him over the side so he could watch the way Dean's fat ass jiggled as Sam thrust into him hard then harder. But it wouldn't quite scratch the bone deep, crazy itch in Sam's skin.   
   
"C'mon, Sammy, fill me up," Dean breathes, wriggling that full ass against him. Sam grips it, feels the flesh give underneath the sweatpants, and grips tighter. Dean makes a low noise and moves in for another kiss.   
   
Sam tilts his head, though, and Dean's mouth moves against his chin. A frustrated huff replaces Dean's lips as he pulls away.   
   
"No dessert until you've finished dinner," Sam says softly, kissing Dean's cheek.   
   
"I'm not hungry."  
   
Dean's lying. His gaze drifts to the plate at the end of the couch and Sam can see longing in his face. Sam pats his thigh, soothing, and reaches for the plate.   
   
"You sure?" Dean licks his lips as Sam lifts the final sporkful of macaroni to his mouth. "I think you are, baby. I think you're starving. I think you want to eat everything I have for you, swallow it like the good boy you are, and say please when you ask for more. I think you want to eat until it feels like you're going to burst."   
   
He presses his palm to Dean's belly. Dean whimpers, frustrated and turned-on and, no matter what he says, hungry. Sam's voice is gravel in his own ears as he adds, "I think you want to be so full you can barely move, barely do anything when I fuck you but lay back and take it."  
   
Dean makes a desperate noise before catching the sporkful of macaroni. His eyes flutter closed as he swallows the last bite.   
   
"Good," Sam praises, rubbing Dean's tummy. "That's so good, Dean. You're so good for me."  
   
After Dean swallows, Sam leans forward to lick his neck. Dean's brain has already shifted from fucking back to feeding, though, and when Sam pulls back Dean is motioning towards the plate again.   
   
Sam picks up a potato wedge and offers it up. Dean takes two large bites before he swallows them down. He keeps eating until the wedge has disappeared and he's lapping the crispy flakes on Sam's fingers.   
   
They repeat the process until Dean asks, "Biscuit?" He licks his lips as his gaze drops to the buttery, flakey bread stacked near the chicken.   
   
Sam smiles. He loves the little lilt of Dean's voice when he asks for food. It's the only time his voice softens so much.   
   
He tears off a piece of the biscuit. Dean eats from his fingers, licks the crumbs from his palms. Part of Sam wants nothing more than to slide his fingers past Dean's lips, watch that insanity driving mouth suck his skin clean; an even larger part of him just wants to watch Dean eat the food from his hands, wants to feel the vibrations from the happy noises and satisfied groans vibrate through his skin.   
   
The rest of the biscuit disappears, then half of another, before Dean asks for the potato wedges again. Sam feels indulgent as he feeds Dean another. His thumb brushes against Dean's navel, the downy hair there, and Dean nuzzles his hand.   
   
As much as Sam wants to wait, follow the rules he's set, he hopes Dean gets done eating soon. His cock feels so heavy, so full, he doesn't know if he's going to have enough blood circulating through his heart to get him through dinner.   
   
Dean is making soft 'mmm' noises against Sam's fingers. Sam's so distracted by the sounds and the feeling of Dean's silk lips he doesn't realize they've run out of potato wedges until his fingers meet nothing but cold plate.   
   
"You want some more? You ready for your chicken? More macaroni? Biscuits?" He brings his own hands up, watching as Dean's mouth follows the crumbs, and pulls Dean in for a soft kiss. "You need a break, baby?"  
   
Dean has to take a moment to breath before he answers. "Nu-uh," he finally says, smile growing cocky. It's a challenge for Dean; how much can he eat, how much can he do for Sammy. Sam smiles back. "Told you. M' _starvin_ '. Bring on the wings."  
   
It's harder to hand feed Dean fried chicken, so Sam reluctantly lets Dean out of his lap. Dean's legs stay sprawled against his thighs as Dean leans in to kiss him.   
   
"Thank you, Sammy," he says, but he's already distracted by the plate he's dragging to his knees.   
   
Sam rubs his calves, his feet, lets his hands wander to Dean's full thighs as Dean bites into a chicken thigh. He moans around the mouthful, head falling back.   
   
"Thank you, Colonel," Dean practically groans.   
   
Sam watches Dean devour the piece of chicken, tear off the skin and swallow the skin, lick his greasy fingers with his shining mouth. When Dean starts on his next piece, Sam's own stomach finally pulses.   
   
He fixes himself a plate with two pieces of chicken, a biscuit, and the small side of green beans he ordered. Dean loaded up on vegetables during lunch and fruit during breakfast, so Sam doesn't offer to share.   
   
They eat, the sounds of Dean's smacking lips and occasional laughter merging with the sounds of the television. Sam ends up eating half of another piece but stops when that feeling of fullness begins to rise in his stomach.   
   
-  
   
Dean eats the rest of the macaroni, Sam feeding him every bite. He eats half of the potato wedges and nearly one full bucket of chicken, all from his own hands, which is disappointing but does provide Sam visions of Dean sucking his own fingers clean.   
   
After he can't eat anymore, after he says, "No, Sammy, too full - m'so - so full," he curls around Sam, resting his head on Sam's thighs, brushing his fingers on Sam's shirt.   
   
Sam smiles fondly down at him. He pets Dean's hair, brushes his knuckles over Dean's cheeks, rests his palm on Dean's stomach. It feels bigger, softer. Sam touches the stretched band of Dean's sweats. When he tries to push his fingers underneath, the fabric barely gives.   
   
He groans, his own head falling back against the couch. Dean's almost grown out of Sam's sweatpants, the over sized ones he got at Stanford and had to double the ties around his waist to keep from falling down.   
   
Pretty soon, Dean's going too big for any of Sam's lounging clothes, much too big to keep wearing his jeans. The buttons already bite little angry marks into his belly, red indentions that Sam laves with his tongue, loving every mark that shows Dean is growing, full of Sam, full for Sam.   
   
Dean could just be naked all the time, Sam thinks, and for several moments he can't find a downside to that plan.   
   
Then Dean shuffles against him, drawing him from his daze.   
   
"Gotta piss," Dean mutters.   
   
It takes a little time for Dean to find his feet. When he stands, Sam's sweats stretch tight around his ass, making it look higher, fuller, fatter. Sam can't resist giving it a little slap.   
   
Dean glares over his shoulder, but Sam doesn’t miss the way he adjusts his dick in the pants before padding off to the bathroom. 

-

 _Reno 911_ fades into  _Futurama_. Sam is contemplating the existence of aliens as Dean moves back into the room.   
   
He looks up, a question on his tongue, but Dean's eyes, still glassy but no longer red, are on him with a startling amount of focus. The spark in Dean's gaze is the hunger of a starving man, someone who hasn't eaten in  _days._ Sam shifts in his seat.   
   
"Decide you were still hungry?"   
   
Dean licks his lips. The move is a drug in itself, making Sam's chest feel too small, making his blood and brain race.   
   
"I told you, Sammy," Dean says, pitching his voice lower than it has any right to be. He holds Sam's gaze as he moves closer; doesn't even break eye contact when he sinks to his knees. Sam is biting his lip before Dean even touches him. "M' _starvin_ '."   
   
Dean's hands slide over Sam's thighs as he settles between them. Sam spreads as wide as he can, giving Dean access, and Dean shuffles closer, closer, until his breath is falling hot and moist against Sam's crotch.   
   
"Yeah," Sam pants, watching as Dean nuzzles his thigh, mouths at the fabric. "Fuck, yeah, Dean. Go on. Been such a good boy, deserve your dessert. Knew you had room for it. You always have room for me, don't you, baby?"   
   
Dean doesn't answer. Instead he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses from Sam's leg to the bulge between his legs. Dean mouths at his erection, licks at it over his trousers, like Dean's so damn hungry for Sam in his mouth he'll swallow the fabric, swallow anything as long as he gets Sam's dick too.   
   
Sam unbuttons then unzips his trousers. Dean's tongue snakes between the open fly to lap over his briefs. His underwear is still a barrier, but much less so than his trousers, and Sam groans at the feeling of wetness dragging over the rough fabric.   
   
"So damn hungry," Sam moans.   
   
Dean just makes a noise that could mean  _yeah, Sammy, fuck_ or  _fuck off, bitch_. Sam ignores it in favor of lifting his hips, pressing his still clothed erection even closer to Dean's mouth, and wriggling his briefs down. He wonders for a moment if Dean is going to stop lapping at him long enough to let him pull them off, but then Dean falls back.   
   
His gaze is focused on Sam's fingers as he eases his aching cock from his briefs. Dean licks his lips again, eyeing the drops of pre-come the same way he was eyeing the cherry pie they had last weekend.   
   
"You want it, baby?" Sam asks softly, pushing his briefs to his knees. Dean's gaze drops to his balls and he nods, slowly, eyes half-lidded. Sam cups his face between his palms. "You want your dessert?"  
   
"Yeah," Dean answers, breathless. "I - c'mon, Sammy. Gimme my dessert."  
   
"Okay, Dean. You can have it. Only if you don't think you're too full."   
   
Dean makes a frustrated noise. "Not even close," he mutters, voice an angry rasp, and Sam's cock twitches in anticipation.   
   
"Okay, baby," he says gently, patting Dean's plump little cheek. "Eat up."  
   
It's better than Heaven when Dean's tongue finally drags against his balls. Dean's tongue is wet and hot and silken, Dean's breath is sweet and Dean's mouth is eager as he opens his lips, takes one sac fully into his mouth and sucks.   
   
Sam groans, arches into the everything-good-heat of Dean's mouth. Dean sucks Sam sloppy and slow, enjoys the weight of Sam's sac on his tongue, the moans Sam sings for him. He doesn't second guess himself and he doesn't try to put on some sort of trashy porn show, the way he did when they first tumbled into each other's beds. Dean does end up giving Sam a trashy porn show, but it's all natural, all organic hunger that's been building in Dean's bones the same way it's been building in Sam's. There's nothing fake in the way Dean groans around Sam, the way he grazes Sam with just enough to teeth.   
   
"That's it, baby, that's it. Eat up. F-fuck, Dean, eat up, then we'll make sure you get full, okay? So full you - fuck, fuck - you won't be able to feel anything but me."  
   
Dean licks up from his balls to the head of his cock. He tongues Sam's slit, gathers the leaking desire there, and savors the taste as he swallows. The same pleased 'mmm' noise Dean made around his food brushes against Sam's dick.   
   
Dean brings one hand to curl around the base, holding Sam's throbbing cock in a too loose, teasing grip as he licks and licks and licks. When Sam's cock is practically gleaming with spit, Dean suckles the head into his mouth.   
   
Shallow sucks and kitten flicks of Dean's tongue is all he gives for several moments. Sam wants to buck his hips, just feed Dean inch after inch of his dick until Dean's stuffed full of it, can't even swallow around it, but the high is still in his bones and he doesn't think he can fuck Dean's mouth the way he wants to. Instead he sits, a moaning mess as Dean takes his time tasting.  
   
Finally, Dean swallows him down a little more. Not all the way, just a few more inches, sinking into that incredible wet heat. Sam watches as Dean's lips stretch wide to accommodate the girth of him.   
   
He brings one hand down to brush his fingertips over Dean's mouth, feel the way the silk is pulled taut and pretty around him. A line of drool is dripping from the side of Dean's mouth, already stuffed full with Sam's thick dick, and Sam runs his fingers through it, draws the slick down to the base so Dean will be able to slide right down.   
   
And Dean dose, of course he does, always following Sam's orders and always anticipating what Sam wants. He sinks down to the base, tongue and throat working deep groans from Sam's chest.   
   
Dean sucks Sam's dick as greedily and eagerly as he swallowed every spoonful of macaroni. His tongue rubs against a thick, throbbing vein, and he groans, laps at the skin the way he lapped crumbs from Sam's fingers. He slurps and bobs his head, slides down before sucking Sam back in.  
   
It never fails to strike Sam how, in these too hot, too heavy moments, Dean is still the most beautiful, bright thing he's ever seen. Head between his legs, moans that would make a whore flush vibrating along Sam's cock, plump cheeks red from the force of his sucks and the pressure of his arousal, he's still the most precious thing Sam has ever touched.   
   
Sam almost wishes they were on a bed. He loves it when Dean stretches out beside him, when he can touch Dean's belly and nip at his thighs, trace the stretch marks that mark Dean's devotion to him with his tongue, see Dean's cock nestled between the new fat of his body. But there are few things hotter in the world than Dean on his knees.  
   
Sam presses his fingers to Dean's cheeks. He can feel the line of his dick as Dean gives a particularly brain numbing suck, and he can feel the plumpness of flesh. He wonders how much more Dean will have to gain to lose the angle of his cheekbones completely; thinks of how adorable and sweet and fucking delectable Dean will look if ( _when_ ) he does.   
   
He's been bone hard so long, been turned on so hotly he can barely think almost all day, and he's not going to last much longer. It's okay, though; this part isn't really about him. It's about making him come quickly so he can take his time making Dean crazy, about giving Dean what he wants, which is sometimes just to choke himself on his Sammy's cock until he's nearly dizzy.   
   
"Dean," he groans, palms pressing into Dean's cheeks. "Dean,  _fuck_ , I'm - shit, Dean, you're so good, so fucking hot and so fucking good, gonna make me - "  
   
The words barely make it past his lips before he's spilling down Dean's throat.   
   
He groans through the orgasm, panting and jerking into Dean’s mouth as the shocks and aftershocks take him. His hands flutter helplessly against Dean’s cheeks.  
   
Dean swallows him down, takes every last inch of his dick and every last drop of his come. He slides off Sam’s cock with a pop. A blurt of come spills through Sam’s slit and Dean makes a deep, hungry noise before wrapping his tongue around the head and licking the last drops away.   
   
“Fuck,” Sam pants, drunk and spent.   
   
Dean slides lazily upwards, chest then stomach brushing Sam’s sensitive cock. He licks at Sam’s open mouth before sealing their mouths together.  
   
His face is bright red with exertion and arousal, those perfect chubby cheeks warm against Sam’s, and he’s so beautiful as he whispers, “Thank you, Sammy.” Sam has to pull him up in his lap again for another kiss.  
   
-  
   
They fumble to Sam’s bedroom. Most of their nights are spent in his bed, limbs tangled together, but some nights, when memories are haunting Dean’s brain, when Sam thinks Dean needs him most, Dean likes to sleep in the room he still keeps.  
   
It hurt at first: another reminder that Dean didn’t trust Sam to take care of him, that Dean didn’t trust the strength of them together, needed to keep his own room in case things got bitter between them. It hurt, until Sam realized it wasn’t about trust at all; until Sam realized it never had been.   
   
All of the painful words and frenzied fights between them, and it had never been about Dean not believing in Sam’s strength or heart or love for him. Some almost irreparable part of Dean’s brain believed he had to carry the weight of the world so Sammy could live in it; some broken part of Dean’s heart believed Sammy deserved happiness and peace, the kind Dean didn’t.   
   
The book, the weight, the feeding, the fucking – combined they’ve helped Sam heal so many wounds, both inside himself and his brother. Every day, Dean shows that he believes Sam can take care of him, shows how much he needs to be taken care of. Sam returns the warm, flowing feelings by showing Dean that it doesn’t hurt him to be the care taker, that he won’t leave and won’t judge and that Dean won’t be weak if he gives himself over to Sam’s loving hands.   
   
When they reach the room, door slamming shut behind them, Sam pins Dean to it. Dean’s distended stomach presses against his abs. It’s so soft, so good, but would be even better with no layer of fabric between them.   
   
Sam pulls his shirt off quickly. Dean reaches to do the same, but Sam kisses his cheek and bats his hands away. He slips his fingers underneath Dean’s shirt and pulls it up slow, slow, slow, revealing the extra inches of flesh bit by bit, teasing them both.   
   
After the shirt is off, he drops it to the floor. Stepping back slightly, he takes a moment to admire Dean’s body in the soft yellow light of the room.   
   
“Sammy,” his brother pants, reaching for him.  
   
Sam takes Dean's hand, brings it to his lips, presses slow kisses to every knuckle. Dean groans in impatience.

   
“Shh,” Sam soothes. He kisses Dean’s wrist before placing it on the door, palm up, beside his head. “Just wanna look at you. How gorgeous you are,” he says as he repeats the motion with the other wrist.  
   
And Dean  _is_  gorgeous; flushed from his nose to his belly, plump flesh soft and warm and so delicious looking. Sam licks his lips as he spreads his palms over Dean’s clavicle.   
   
“Look at you."  
   
It strikes him each time he sees Dean like this just how much he’s changed – changed  _for Sam_. He runs his fingertips over Dean’s biceps, a soft layer of flesh covering the muscle he still has underneath. Dean shivers with the movement; Sam smiles.   
   
His hands drift lower until he’s got Dean’s pecs, formerly hard and smooth, now soft and round, peaked the slightest bit, in his palms. They’re not exactly man-boobs, as Dean likes to call them, but they’re a little noticeable under shirts and very noticeable when Dean’s naked.   
   
“Look at these,” Sam breathes.   
   
Dean turns his head to press his cheek against the door, eyes squeezed shut.   
   
Sam just cups him, feels the new, soft weight of his pecs. They’re so cute, draw so much more attention to the dusky, perky nipples in the center of them. Sam always loved to nip and lick and suck them, drive Dean mad with teasing, but they seem even more sensitive now. Dean’s nipples are so much easier to play with against the extra weight. It also gives Sam more skin to suck on. He can pop Dean’s nipple into his mouth with added bonus of sweet, nothing but body fat flesh.   
   
He knows Dean used to be insecure about this particular change to his body; used to think his new chest was somehow substituting Sam’s desire to have a woman in his bed again. Sam does his best to show Dean that he’d rather suck his pretty little pecs than anything else.   
   
Brushing his thumbs over Dean’s already erect nipples earns him a heady sigh. Smirking, Sam moves in closer, whispering against the sensitive place beneath Dean’s ear. “Look at your pretty little boy tits,” he says. Dean bites his lip, but it doesn’t smother the sound of his whimper-whine. “Jesus, Dean. They’re so pretty. I think they’re getting bigger, too.”  
   
He squeezes them in his palms. Dean’s fingers twitch against the door, but he doesn’t move his hands.  
   
“Might have to get me a sports bra for when we run,” Dean jokes, hiding his arousal and discomfort.  
   
Sam makes a little growl and nips at Dean’s throat. “No. No fucking way. Love watching them bounce. It’s so hot. Makes me wanna just push you down and suck your pretty titties until you come.” Dean moans as Sam kneads his chest harder, uses two fingers to roll then pinch Dean’s left nipple until it’s hot between his fingertips. “Not a hand on that gorgeous cock, Dean. Just this. Just my mouth.”  
   
“C’mon,” Dean pants, pushing his hips against Sam’s.   
   
Sam slides his hands down to grip Dean’s ass, soft and jiggling under his hands, before he grips Dean’s thighs. Dean takes the silent command and wraps his legs around Sam’s waist.   
   
“Fuck,” he curses as Sam hoists him against the wall.  
   
It’s not as easy as it used to be, but Sam’s been hitting the weights extra hard to accommodate Dean’s extra girth. He knows that if Dean keeps gaining, there will be a time when he can’t fuck his brother against the wall anymore; he’s going to get the most out of being able to manhandle Dean like this as he can.  
   
Dean mutters another curse as Sam lowers his head to suck one of Dean’s nipples into his mouth. He flicks his tongue against it, swirls his tongue against the sweet flesh, and sucks. Dean cries out as he scrapes his teeth over the skin and nipple.  
   
Sam keeps sucking, hard, as he swings Dean around and walks them to the bed.   
   
Dean's fingers are digging into his shoulders; Dean's lips are moving are over his temple, his hair. Sam's muscles practically scream at him as lowers himself to his knees, lowering Dean to the bed, but the ache barely registers over the ache of his cock, the ache to finally make his brother lose it.   
   
"Jesus Christ, Sam."  
   
Sam tugs at the sweats and orders, " _Off_." Dean groans again and flops onto his back, belly shaking in that way Sam can't get enough of. He pulls Dean's sweatpants off as quickly as he can.   
   
Sam takes another moment to drink in the feast that is Dean's new body. So much skin, fuck, so much soft skin that Sam can just sink all the way into.   
   
Dean's cock curves upwards, so angry red and thick Sam's mouth waters. His dick follows the slope of his stomach. The curves of skin call and Sam brushes his fingertips over the base, drawing a low, deep moan from Dean, and sweeps them gently upwards, following the curve of Dean's cock and belly.   
   
"Beautiful," he whispers.   
   
He continues moving his hand until his fingers are pressing into the butter soft bulge of skin and his palms is resting against the wet head of Dean's dick. Dean whines and growls, desperate, and tries to rut into Sam's hand.   
   
Feeling merciful in the face of Dean's gorgeous, writhing need, Sam kisses his belly. He kisses Dean's hip, licks over the flesh that covers the deep cut that used to be his hip bones. Dean looks so much fuller like this, hips seemingly wider with the extra skin, giving Sam something to twist and grasp and scratch as he fucks Dean hard or slow and sweet.   
   
" _Sam_ ," Dean hisses. "Come  _on_. Suck me."  
   
Chuckling, because he can't help it, Sam nuzzles Dean's hip. "I don't know, bro. I already ate."  
   
Dean doesn't think the quip is funny. He makes another frustrated noise before he fists his hand in Sam's hair and pulls, trying to drag Sam's mouth to him. Sam laughs against his skin but lets himself be moved.   
   
"Lube," Sam says as he kisses a soft space only inches away from Dean's throbbing cock.   
   
Dean huffs but shuffles up the bed to the nightstand. Sam crawls over the bed after him.   
   
After Dean tosses the lube to him, Sam rewards him with a kiss right to the flushed, wet head of his dick.   
   
Dean moans and tangles his fingers in Sam's hair again. Sam smiles as he curls his fingers around the tube.   
   
He settles between Dean's thighs, kissing and nipping the ample, plump flesh. He could nuzzle the thick thighs all night, mapping the flesh with his teeth and tongue, rubbing his dick between the hot, fat skin, come slick all over them. But he's teased enough, for now, and with Dean's next desperate groan, he sucks Dean's cock into his mouth.   
   
" _Sam_."  
   
A smug thrill runs through Sam's gut. He takes Dean deeper, swallowing him almost all the way to the base, and the noise Dean makes is so high and desperate, Sam just has to take him deeper.   
   
He's not as good at deep throating as Dean, but Dean doesn't seem to care. His fingers loosen as his entire body loosens. He gives himself completely to Sam, to the pleasure and warmth Sam gives him.   
   
Sam doesn't think he'll last long; hopes he won't, because he's hard and aching again, and he wants to stuff his cock alongside the piles of food that are filling his brother.   
   
One hand rubbing Dean's fleshy hip, Sam snaps the cap of the lube with the other. At the sound, Dean moans and instinctively hooks his knees over Sam's shoulders. Sam groans then, too, because Dean knows what's coming now; knows it and  _wants_ it, is as hungry to be filled with his baby brother's dick as Sam is to fill him.   
   
Sam gives a hard suck before easing his mouth from Dean's cock. Dean whines but Sam shushes him with a kiss to his balls. He groans softly but doesn't move, just lays with his legs splayed obscenely wide as Sam brings the bottle of lube between the full cheeks of his ass, right against that perfect pink hole.   
   
The first squirt of lube has Dean's thighs quivering, flesh buzzing. Sam pants heavily at the sight. He presses another glob of liquid out, pressing the bottle against Dean's asshole, watching Dean's face as it twists in pleasure.   
   
Sam caps the bottle and rubs two fingers between Dean's ass. The feeling of slick, warmed by Dean's skin, and the feeling of silken, plump flesh, draws another groan. Dean pushes against Sam's fingers, angling to get him to slip them inside. But Sam just wants to feel for a few more seconds; the fat of Dean's perfect ass, the warmth of his puckered hole.   
   
He rubs the skin, not sinking his fingers into Dean's perfect little asshole just yet. He does lean down to slurp Dean's cock back into his mouth though. Dean arches sharply, pushing his dick into Sam's throat and pressing his ass into Sam's fingers.   
   
Sam sucks lazily as he enjoys the slide of his fingers against Dean's ample flesh. Eventually, he gives in to the pump of Dean's hips. He sucks Dean in deeper and slides his entire middle finger inside of Dean with a steady push.   
   
The noise Dean makes when he gets something inside of him is practically otherworldly in its hotness. He moans deep and low and long, dirtier and more wanton than any porn star.   
   
Sam groans around Dean's dick as he starts to finger Dean, slow and steady. He pulls his finger out to the first knuckle then pushes back in. His other hand palms Dean's ass, rough and proprietary. He can't help but think that this fat ass, this plump body, this beauty, this perfection, is  _his_. Dean gave it to him, gives it to him every day, will keep giving until there's nothing else in the world.   
   
He squeezes Dean's ass cheek hard enough to bruise, pulling a pretty, high-pitched noise from Dean's pretty, open mouth, then slides his index finger alongside his middle.   
   
Dean squirms on his fingers. He presses down, chasing them as they pull out, clenching his asshole around them as they scissor back in. The movement is almost enough to have Sam yanking his fingers out, have him push Dean onto his hands and knees and fuck that ass, make it jiggle and smart that pretty shade of red, make Dean come just from Sam's cock ramming that sparking spot inside of him.   
   
Sam closes his eyes and concentrates on working his throat around Dean's dick. He slides his fingers across Dean's prostate. Dean nearly sobs, brokenly moans his name. The next time, Sam scraps his nails across it, and Dean bucks wildly into his mouth.   
   
Sucking as hard and as deep as he can, he adds a third finger, stretching Dean's asshole wide for his cock. He'll need to work his way up to his pinky, too, because it's been a few days since Sam's had Dean writhing on his dick and Sam's thick, so thick Dean can just barely touch his thumb and pinky together when he strokes Sam off (not that Dean's much smaller).   
   
He might like to suck bruises into Dean's plump pecs, squeeze and scratch and bite bruises into Dean's fat ass, but he doesn't want to hurt his brother.   
   
His pinky is just teasing Dean's stretched rim when Dean starts to really moan for it. He's close; Sam can hear it.   
   
He doesn't push inside; just flutters his fingertip as he twists the fingers inside of Dean. He sucks hard and fast, rubbing his tongue along as much of Dean as he can. Dean starts groaning his name, so needy and hot, and his fingers tug at Sam's hair.   
   
 _Come on, baby_ , Sam thinks.  _Come for me. Just for me._  
   
As if Dean can hear Sam's thoughts, his entire body tenses. His asshole clenches so tight and warm around Sam's fingers, Sam thinks he's going to come too.   
   
Dean mutters his name over and over and over again, chants it desperately, and finally comes. Sam feels the gush of it at the back of his mouth. He swallows around Dean's cock, sucking as much come out and down as he can. He's still moving his fingers shallowly in Dean's ass as he swallows the last spurt.   
   
"Sam," his brother groans, tugging at his hair. "Sam, ah - Sammy. St-stop."   
   
Reluctantly, Sam releases Dean's cock.   
   
They both still for a few moments, panting hard. Sam is barely moving his fingers, not touching Dean's prostate, not even pushed that deeply inside.   
   
It takes a few minutes for Dean to open his eyes. They're glazed again, but in the aftermath of his orgasm and not with the slick lick of weed.   
   
Fingers still buried deep, Sam stretches over Dean's body to kiss him. He wishes he wouldn't have swallowed; he could've fed Dean's come back to him, filled him even more. It's a thought he'll for a later day (later tonight, maybe).   
   
He starts to fuck his fingers in and out again, sliding his tongue in time with the rhythm of their kiss. Dean is moaning around his tongue, bringing his legs around Sam's middle, warm, plush thighs pressing to his sides. Sam breaks a little at the feeling; his fingers twist rougher, his tongue pushes further in Dean’s mouth, and he digs his fingers into Dean’s chest.  
   
When Dean gasps, Sam starts nipping at his lip. He teases the tip of his pinky against Dean’s hole.   
   
“You full enough yet, baby?” he rasps.  
   
Dean’s too far gone to mind the endearment. “No,” Dean whimper-whines, the usual low timber of his voice shattered under Sam’s teasing. “Not – y’know I’m not. Not full unless it’s you, Sammy.”  
   
Sam groans and kisses Dean deeply again. His pinky slips easily alongside his other fingers. Dean goes a little crazy with the feeling, sucking Sam’s tongue, hitching one knee over Sam’s shoulder so Sam can finger fuck him deeper.   
   
They’ll both be ready soon. Not soon enough.   
   
Dean starts chanting his name into his mouth. He’s squeezing his ass around Sam’s fingers, hitching his hips when Sam drives in, begging for more.   
   
“You ready?” Sam pants against Dean’s swollen mouth, lips just as fat and gorgeous as the rest of him. “You hungry, Dean?”  
   
“ _Yes_ , Sam. Fuck. Fuck me, come  _on_ – ”  
   
Sam eases his fingers out of Dean’s hole, both of them moaning at the emptiness it leaves. He kisses Dean before sliding over him.   
   
“ _Sam_ – ”  
   
“Want you to ride me.”  
   
Dean bites his lip as Sam settles against the headboard. He reaches for the lube to slick up his own cock. Dean watches him, licking his lips, breathing heavily.   
   
“C’mon, Dean,” Sam encourages.   
   
Dean huffs as he pushes himself to his knees. Sam watches hungrily as Dean crawls to him; groans as Dean straddles his thighs, settling his hot weight across Sam’s lap. His belly presses flush against Sam’s chest, all that soft flesh sliding against him. Then Dean reaches behind himself, biting his lip as he wraps his fingers around Sam’s cock.  
   
Sam moans as Dean rubs the head of his dick along Dean's stretched rim.   
   
Dean’s eyes flutter closed as he lowers himself onto Sam’s cock. He moves steadily, slowly, taking every inch with low, breathy sighs that steal Sam’s own breath. When he finally bottoms out, they both groan.   
   
Sam’s thighs twitch underneath Dean. His brother is so fucking tight and hot around his cock, so fucking heavy and slick on his lap. The plump of Dean’s ass is soft, flattened skin spreading over his thighs, and Dean’s chest, those too pretty, too sweet tits, Dean’s belly fat slick against his abs.   
   
“Fuck,” Sam breathes brokenly. He rests his forehead against Dean’s hairline and palms Dean’s ass. Pressed so closely together, he can feel Dean’s heart beating. “God, Dean. Feel so good.” He runs his palms along Dean’s back, his arms, his belly. “How do you feel, baby?”  
   
Dean takes a shaky breath. He opens his eyes, green irises split and shattered, and clenches hot around Sam’s dick.   
   
“Feel full.” Dean groans and gives a short, circular grind. “Feel so fuckin’ full.”  
   
Sam slides his hand between them, palming Dean’s belly. There’s no way he can feel himself inside of his brother, splitting his brother open, but he still presses closer.   
   
“Full of what, Dean?” he asks lowly. Dean gives a little moan and slides up, just an inch, before lowering himself back down. Moaning, Sam presses, “What are you fully of, baby?”  
   
“Sammy,” Dean groans. He lifts himself up just a little bit more, brings himself back down, grinding down onto Sam’s cock. “M’full of my Sammy.”  
   
Sam grips his love handles as he seizes Dean’s mouth. They moan and groan against each other as Dean works himself up and down.   
   
As Dean starts to pick up speed, he starts to surge farther and farther off of Sam’s dick, bringing himself up until the head of Sam’s cock catches on his rim. He drops himself back down, quick and heavy.   
   
The next time Dean slides up, Sam follows him. He snaps his hips up, pushing his way back into Dean’s body, and Dean takes him, asshole just as greedy and hungry as his mouth.   
   
Dean’s belly, chest, jiggles as he bounces on Sam’s cock. The skin slaps against Sam, smacking strikes of pleasure through him, almost as deep as the gratification of Dean’s ass sliding tight and perfect around his dick.   
   
It should take longer for them both to come. Sam spilled not long ago and Dean literally just came down Sam’s throat, but they’re both working up to coming again any moment.   
   
Dean is making the whining, whimpering noises he does when he’s close, and his movements are becoming frantic. He keeps dropping himself faster and faster, and Sam tries to keep up, slamming his hips up each time Dean drops down.   
   
“So close, Dean. You’re so good and you got me so close already.” Sam groans and grips Dean’s chest in his hands. Dean cries out as Sam pinches his nipples. “You gonna come too, baby? Just from being filled up?”  
   
Dean nods, too lost in pleasure to speak. His mouth is slack and his eyes are rolling. Every extra roll of flesh is bouncing along with Dean’s ass, so damn hot. Sam’s going cross-eyed trying to keep track of every jiggle.   
   
A few more bounces, soft skin moving against Sam, tight ass clenching around him, and Sam is filling Dean with his come.  
   
“Ah,  _fuck_ ,” Sam hisses.   
   
He digs his fingers into Dean’s hips and holds him still, pressing Dean down on his cock as he pumps into him. Dean tries to squirm out of Sam’s grip, keep bouncing, chasing his orgasm impaled on Sam’s dick. Sam just holds him tighter.   
   
“Full enough yet, Dean?” he pants, feeling breathless. “Got my come in you – ” Dean moans, desperate, and Sam smirks boneless against his cheek. “ – and my cock. This enough for you? Enough for you to come?”  
   
“Sam, swear to God, you don’t let me move I’m gonna –  _Sam_.”  
   
Sam slides his hands over Dean’s thighs and Dean instantly starts moving again. His lip curls in a snarl as he moves up and down, so hard and fast it squeezes Sam’s oversensitive cock, but fuck he doesn’t care. He just wants to feel Dean’s ass clench around him, to watch Dean’s chest and belly and thigh shake as he comes.   
   
“Come on, Dean. Come on. Know you can come like this, just from being filled up. You’re so full, aren’t you? Can you feel me, huh, feel me here?” Sam rubs his palm over Dean’s belly, and Dean shudders around him. “All that food you ate, just for me. All this cock you’re taking, just for me. Can you feel it, baby?”  
   
Dean makes a wild noise and slams himself down, so hard it nearly hurts. He catches Sam’s bottom lip between his teeth and tugs as he grinds himself down, pressing Sam’s cock against his prostate. He doesn’t even move to touch his cock, doesn’t need to; he just bounces a few more times, hard and fast, and his cock pulses between their bellies.  
   
Come spills hot over them, slicking Dean’s plump belly. Sam runs his palm through the mess as Dean rides out his orgasm on Sam’s softening dick.  
   
Dean eases off him with shuddering breaths. He falls onto his back and Sam follows immediately, licking the splashes of come from Dean’s belly. Dean moans softly as Sam laps him clean.   
   
Sam flops to Dean’s side, spent and exhausted and contented down to his very bones. He slides an arm around Dean, nuzzles close so he can press a kiss to his temple.  
   
“That was awesome,” Dean murmurs sleepily, eyes already closing.  
   
Sam smiles. “Yeah.”  
   
“Mmm. I’m gonna sleep a million years.” Dean cracks one eye open before saying, “Hey. You can’t go to sleep. You gotta put the food up first.”  
   
Of course Sam does. He rolls his eyes before leaning in, mouth a breath away from his brother’s. Dean rolls his eyes to, but closes the distance between them anyway.  
   
“Thank you, Sammy,” he says softly.   
   
He’s snoring by the time Sam reaches the door.  
   
-  
   
Dean is resting on his stomach when Sam gets back. He his own arm outstretched, likes he’s reaching for Sam even in his sleep.  
   
Sam crawls in beside him, sliding his own arm around Dean’s shoulders.   
   
He lets himself paint lazy nonsense patterns on Dean’s skin as he drifts asleep. When he can barely keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, he snuggles closer and brushes a final goodnight kiss against Dean’s chubby cheek.   
   
“Thank you, Dean,” he whispers.   
   
Before his eyes close a final time, he swears he sees Dean smile.   
 

 


End file.
